Ithil Dome
by thranjewel
Summary: A humorous glimpse of family life in pre-Hobbit Mirkwood. Life is tough for Thranduil, who must defend his kingdom against the evil awoken by the full moon, and for a teenage Legolas, who must learn to negotiate the complex elven worlds of fashion and hairstyle... with a little help from his fabulous father, of course.


**Ithil Dome**

Author's Note: There are translations for the elvish words used at the bottom of the story. Thanks for reading, please review! :)

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing at all. Especially nothing related to lotr/the hobbit. Thanks Tolkien and PJ!

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_An eerie night settled over the damp undergrowth of Mirkwood Forest, as a full moon rose gigantic and yellow against the tree-framed horizon. The full moon, once a cause of reverence or indifference in the forest's inhabitants, now sent a sent a shiver of fear through their burrows and hideaways, as they sheltered from the new, malevolent forces spreading slowly their disease._

Long ago, the elves of Mirkwood celebrated "_Ithil Dome_": the night of the full moon with song and dance; rejoicing the peak of the lunar cycle as a renewal of growth and beauty. Though truthfully, elves are wont to rejoice anything for the sake of a party.  
On this particular _Ithil Dome_ however, as on many preceding it, the celebrations were reduced to nostalgic songs of merrymaking; it was a long time since the elves had last danced in the full moon's uncanny light. For _Ithil Dome_ had the effect of instilling a mad sort of courage at the heart of the forest's evil-born creatures, causing them to slither from their crevices and spread further into the upper regions of the forest, slowly lengthening the dark shadow lying over Mirkwood.

The elves were forced to exchange their singing and dancing for retiring underground and locking their doors, as although the creatures retreated when the sun rose, _Ithil Dome_ stood as a reminder of just how close they lived to such foulness.  
This reminder was not figurative, either, because it was not uncommon for the most audacious of the creatures—the giant, diurnally web-based spiders—to scuttle all the way from the centre of the forest to the Elvenking's Halls, and throw themselves repeatedly at the massive, fortified doors.  
It was never clear exactly their motive in doing this, as they would never be able to breech them, making the behaviour seem to contain as much sense as the way moths endlessly burn themselves on candle flames. Consequently, _Ithil Dome_ was treated by the elves as an unpleasant inconvenience, rather than occasion for fear, although elf children were known to wake up crying from nightmares whose roots grew in the memory of the dull, soft thumps the spiders made as they hurled themselves in futility at the doors' unforgiving metal.

It was the echoes of such thumps—resounding all the way from a nearby door to the royal chambers—which were currently giving Thranduil, mighty King of the Woodland Realm, a pounding headache. Even though the spiders didn't pose a serious threat to his people, the king elected to remain awake and alert during Ithil Dome, lest anything more sinister also find the courage to attack.  
He was prepared for the unlikely eventuality well: although sitting calmly at a large desk in one of his chambers, his full battle gear (sword, armour, battle robes, matching battle cloak, special battle crown, elk...) prepared and easily accessible in the next chamber (even the elk). He also received half-hourly updates from the Captain of the Guard, who had soldiers watching every entrance, and in every direction. Some called Thranduil a cautious and responsible king, while others simply (and perhaps more accurately) called him paranoid.

Whatever the truth, he did not truly believe an attack was imminent, and was passing the time reading a dull proposal by an advisors on how to best improve the quality of the wine trade with the Men of Laketown. Thranduil, while enthused by wine in almost all possible contexts, had a strong distaste for his advisor's long-winded, excruciatingly detailed, and often pompous reports, and a still stronger one for the Ithil Dome that left him nothing to do but read through his perpetual backlog of them.  
Therefore, he was incredibly bored. Were it not for the half-hourly updates, he would have dozed off into a boredom-induced sleep several times over by the late hour.

He had just finished reading the introductory_ "ai narn en' i' ndor ar' narn en' wanwie mainka"_ section of the report when he heard a gentle knock on his chamber door, which could only be heard over the knocking of the spiders due to proximity alone.

"_Minno_!" he commanded, before registering that the Captain had delivered his latest report not ten minutes prior—perhaps there was to be trouble after all.  
Thranduil swiftly stood, prepared to retrieve his battle gear and defend his kingdom, his halls, his people, and above all his young son Legolas who was… slowly pushing open the heavy door to his father's chambers, and stepping inside.

"_Ionya_! I thought you the Captain bearing bad news!" Thranduil relaxed, and sat back at the desk.

The boy, only just approaching the close of his first century, was beginning to lose his childlike appearance—his face had lost much of its youthful roundness, and started hardening into the high angles that characterised the elvish royal line. He had reached his full height some decade prior (tall amongst his people, though still considerably shorter than his father, of which Thranduil's vanity was secretly grateful) and was developing the extremely lithe agility for which he would later be known.

"One day, _Adar_. One day." He joked, voice yet to settle on one tone, for it was his goal to join the guard when he was fully grown; to slay the spiders that had fuelled his childhood nightmares; to rid Mirkwood of the foul beasts forever.

Thranduil smiled at his son's ambitions, before remembering how late it was. Despite all his growing up, Legolas was still very much a child in his father's eyes. A child who needed to be guided, protected against the world's cruelty, a child who was in training both as a warrior and as royalty. A child who was, most pressingly, up far past his bedtime.

"Perhaps one day. Or not, if you cannot prepare by resting well. Tell me, _mellnya_, why are you awake at this hour?" At this Legolas was reminded of his purpose in visiting his father, and grew sheepish, tugging nervously at his hair, which was oddly knotted and matted. From sleep, Thranduil presumed.

"I require your assistance, _Adar_."

Knowing that his son always became serious when he was nervous or frightened, Thranduil wondered if he was having nightmares again, and proceeded more gently. "Then how may I help?"

Legolas paused for a while, uncharacteristically shy, before suddenly blurting out:  
"Could you please teach me to braid my hair correctly because I asked Tauriel to and she laughed and said 'good joke', only it wasn't a joke because I really don't know how, because it has always been done for me but I am almost grown and want to do it myself like everyone else." Legolas, still having more to say, was forced to stop here to regain his breath before continuing. "I have attempted to do the braids by myself but I cannot get the hang of it so could you please teach me _Adar_, thank you."

It took the mighty Elvenking—legendary warrior of fearsome build—every bit of strength he possessed not to burst out laughing at the gravely serious and messy-haired young elf before him. He opened his mouth to reassure him, but before he could speak, Legolas fired out a second request even faster than the first.

"Also _Adar_ could you please teach me about 'complementary colours'? Because Celegion said that my formal robes didn't suit my best cape, and Tauriel said my complexion didn't complement burgundy and I'm partial to burgundy but she said it makes my face look pink and silly, which was very rude,_ Adar_ I don't want Tauriel to—"

"_Lenca torn, ionya_! I will of course assist you." Interrupted Thranduil, treating him with the same level of formality and gravity, both to avoid embarrassing his son about an obviously sensitive subject, and also because proper etiquette in hairstyling and fashion were second in the Elvenking's interests only to defending his realm from evil. Just. To the Elvenking, formality and gravity were moods that existed specifically to be applied to matters of appearance, and matters of battle. Likely in that order.

"I would be honoured to teach you the skills of braiding and complementary colours, Legolas. If there is time, I will also begin teaching you the art of eyebrow maintenance. As royalty, one must always present oneself with beauty and dignity. I am aware the hour is late, but it is _Ithil Dome_; normal routine is abandoned, and this matter simply cannot wait until morning. Come along, let us go find a comb and a colour wheel; you have much to learn, _gwien caun_."

Legolas's posture relaxed, and he beamed at his father. "I thank you very much for your generosity, _Adar_." But his thanks was misplaced, as it was not out of generosity that Thranduil was acting: it was out of pure, selfish joy.

Almost certain that nothing would attack this _Ithil Dome_, as the approaching hours would bring both dawn, and the retreat of the foul creatures, Thranduil paused only to write a note to the Captain of the Guard telling him not to bother with updates unless the need was dire. The Elvenking then led his son quickly down a corridor lit only by the full moon through a skylight, towards his immense dressing room (a room he was well known to be extremely proud of, and spend a great amount of time in).

As they walked, the young prince wondered if he was right in seeing his father skip a little bit, as if unable to contain his excitement about something. But he dismissed the idea of his regal father expressing such an un-regal and unchecked emotion; his over-tired brain must have imagined it.  
Thranduil, for his part, was just glad his son could not see his face in the dim corridor, for he was grinning to himself. Despite his century-long lack of interest in personal grooming, Legolas was finally starting to look promising. There was hope after all. Legolas would be fabulous yet.

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Author's Notes:  
—The name Celegion is from a random generator of elf names, no special significance, I just thought Legolas needed more friends...  
—In case anyone was wondering (which I'm sure you were) Thranduil's note to the guard read: "In dressing room with Legolas attending to urgent business. Do not disturb unless orcs attack—King Thranduil xxxx"

Translations:  
_Ithil Dome_: Moon Night  
_ai narn en' i' ndor ar' narn en' wanwie mainka_: literally translates to "short tale of the land and story of past trade" (which was as close to "brief history and record of past trade" as I could get haha)  
_Minno_: Enter  
_Ionya_: My son  
_Adar_: Father  
_Mellnya_: My dear  
_Lenca torn_: Slow down  
_Gwien caun_: Young prince


End file.
